


Night Terrors

by StrongerThanAnySword



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: :'), And I think that that is beautiful, Back to the cross, Can you tell I love writing Nightmare fics, Damen is Damaged too, Dreams as emotional exposition, Dreams as omens, Laurent comforts him, Laurent is Damen's Rock, M/M, Suffer my children, There are Nightmares, Whipping, Whipping-post, description of violence, mention of violence, suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrongerThanAnySword/pseuds/StrongerThanAnySword
Summary: Damen has a nightmare and leans on his other half for support when he wakes. I needed to show that Damen is haunted too, is all.  :)





	

It was twilight in Arles, or pre-dawn; Damen couldn't be sure.  

What he was sure of was that there was screaming coming from down the hall--an ominously familiar hallway, despite the delicately decorative carvings on the walls and pillars.

Something told him not to go, that what was down the hallway was nothing short of horrible, but he was already turning, considering, and breaking into a jog, and then into a run.  The screaming intensified, drowning out the thudding of Damen's feet, the beating of his heart.

Over the screaming bellows, though, Damen heard the cracking.

He rounded a corner and burst into the courtyard, slipping slightly in the sawdust.  What he saw made him freeze.  

There, standing across from him, stood Laurent, watching, blue eyes burning.  

Between them, Damen himself was tied to the cross, contorting in agony under the lash.  

Damen blinked, and jerked back, as Laurent in the space of the blink had somehow moved from his place against the wall to holding the lash, bringing it down viciously on the other Damen's shoulders; Damen's own throbbed in sympathy, and he started forward to pull the lash away, to stop this--

Laurent was laughing.

"They are savages, my son."

Damen stopped, blood chilling in his veins.  He turned to the side.

His father stood next to him, looking resplendent in his state achiton and hammered gold circlcet.  He was tall, taller than Damen, and he looked over the scene before him with a cold air emanating from his dark brown eyes.  King Theomedes slowly turned to look at him even as the sound of the lash and Laurent's laughter sounded again; he raised his eyebrows, pulling something out of his large sleeve and offering it to Damen.  It was the lash, murderous and dripping blood as it swayed in the king's grip.

Damen shook his head and backed up, mouth opening in surprise, raising his hands in denial.  "No," he was trying to say, "father, please."  He shot a look at the post, and his stomach dropped through the soles of his feet.

Guards were pulling the victim of the whipping-post away, practically peeling him off of the wood, sweat-stained and blood-soaked clothes sticking to him, clinging to him.  He was Damen's size, roughly, but his coloring was completely different--

The guards dropped him, and he fell to the floor, collapsing in the sawdust, and Damen saw him clearly: Auguste of Vere, bleeding through his tightly-laced clothing, his back entirely bare, and Damen glimpsed something white glinting wetly...

Damen felt a heavy weight in his hand that had been there before, but that he hadn't noticed.  He slowly looked down and away, raising the object to look at it.  

It was the lash, still dripping blood.

He had whipped Auguste to the edge of oblivion, and over it.  He had flogged Auguste to death.

Damen's head floating through fog, breathing turning sharp and painful, he turned to his father to deny it, to push it away, to give it back, but he was gone; instead, Damen's eye caught the sight of someone new being shoved to the cross, stripped down to nothing.  The person, the man, cried out, struggling, trying to pull away even as his wrists were strapped into place.  Damen started forward, raising a hand to stop them, but suddenly he was close, much too close, standing right behind Laurent, who twisted against his bonds, beginning to look over his shoulder.

Damen's arm was coming up, had come up, was coming down, and Damen heard the  _snap_ and the scream before he realized what had happened, his jaw falling so his mouth hung open, and he tried to stop, to release the whip, to flee, but his feet held fast and his grip only tightened around the hard, braided leather handle, and his arm worked harder, faster, falling into a rhytm, the tension and _snap_ and Laurent's screams--

"Barbarian," someone spat, and Damen turned to look, gasping in the face of Laurent, who stood there with hatred plain on his face, his eyes cold yet burning like fire, and he didn't flinch when Damen's next draw back splattered blood across his face.  " _Murderer_."

Damen woke up with a shout, bolting upright, sweat causing the bedclothes to stick to him, panting, doubling over where he sat.  He framed his face in his hands and sucked in breath after breath, trying to get his feet under him, trying to stop feeling like he was standing on a tiny raft in the middle of a thunderstorm at sea.  His muscles screamed as if he had just fought a battle; his stomach pitched as if he was sick and dying.

A cool, gentle hand registered on his back, rubbing gently, somewhat uncertainly, but firm and gentle just the same.

"It's all right," Laurent's voice whispered in the darkness, though so much softer and gentler than the dream-Laurent's voice had been that Damen was able, finally, to turn to him, to slump into his side, and wrap one hesitant arm around Laurent's waist.  "It's all right."  Damen had no answer for that, nuzzling closer, pressing his nose to Laurent's pulse, but he did feel a small mote of comfort start glowing in his chest, soothing and sweet as the soft beating of Laurent's heart began to ground him to the world.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Laurent murmured, turning his head to speak closer to Damen's ear.  Damen shook his head, tightening his grip just a little, finding the strength to wrap his other arm around Laurent's torso.

"All right."  A kiss pressed to the top of Damen's head had his eyes closing, falling shut with a finality like death.  He swallowed his bile and his mouth tasted less like sawdust even though his stomach still pitched.  Laurent leaned away for a moment and Damen followed, clinging,  feeling more ill with the movement as he and the world tilted in opposite directions, but when Laurent settled back in he had a hammered pewter cup pressing into Damen's hand, cold and promising some relief.  Damen swallowed the water down like ambrosia, gulping so that water dripped down his chin and onto his sheets, until the cup was empty, and Laurent was pulling it away again.

Damen slumped back against the pillows, slowly coming down once more.

"Thank you," he murmured, cracking his eyes open to peer up at Laurent.

Even in the shadows of a room lit only by the moon, Laurent's smile and eyes could be seen.  He leaned in to press another kiss to Damen's temple.

"Of course, Damen, amour."

Damen slept reluctantly, but deeply, nose buried in Laurent's hair as Laurent slowly stroked his chest.


End file.
